The Big Truth

I have had periods when it has been difficult for me to find the keyboard and spill my heart; But this has been my longest dry spell. I don't like it.

It's not that I haven't thought about this space. I do. I think about it daily. But finding my way back to the keyboard has been a challenging one. I can't honestly say I have one reason why. I also can't say that I can't identify at least five reasons why. But here I am. At the keyboard. How did I get here?

I got home tonight, and this is the first night in almost two months that I haven't brought work home. And it's a Friday! I sat on my balcony and watched the sun set. It was beautiful. Clearly a sign that there is life beyond us, however you might define it. Once it hit about 70 degrees, and I got too cold to sit outside, I made my way to the kitchen to make dinner and find something mindless to watch. What I stumbled upon was anything but mindless.

As I began my semi-homemade meal of chicken, broccoli and rice, I also started to search for a movie to watch. I started one well-intentioned Seth Rogen movie, but after four minutes, I knew it wasn't the one. I searched three other streaming apps before finding the answer...a movie I watched many times as a teenager, even though it was already beyond my years. A movie I somehow connected to despite never experiencing any of the storylines. A movie entitled, The Big Chill.

If you haven't seen this movie, I'd love to tell you that it is amazing and you'll love it, but I once watched it with a friend and her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and they both hated it. I suppose some storylines feel beyond the traditional. But since my first viewing as a young teenager, I have been drawn to this movie. I never understood why, but now, at the age of 40, some things may becoming clear.

This is a movie about long-time friends who experience the death of one of their own. They all of a sudden find themselves together for a weekend post-funeral trying to tackle their own demons. They have different paths, different goals, different everything, but they have each other. That's their common denominator. I can't say that I've experienced this exact moment, but I can tell you my truth. And I've experienced something similar.

In my Big Truth, one of my own died way before he should have. We were 22; only a month past graduation. We all had big dreams on our horizon. Just like The Big Chill, our lives stopped temporarily so that we could huddle. We needed each other; some more than others. Our Big Truth was that we were devastated. One of our own was gone. None of us knew how that was possible. But we hugged and cuddled and squatted. We wouldn't leave each others' sides. That's what happened in this movie. They needed each other.

Twenty years later, we have all had moments with each other. Unlike The Big Chill, our moments were not mainly sexually charged; they were emotionally charged. We are each others' life lines. These are the folks I could call right now to tell them I've been crying for days wondering why I am me. I haven't because I know they are all busy, and bothering them with my life isn't fair. They already love me beyond what I deserve. But as I watch this movie, I wonder how we could write a new version in our own words. Less sexual-tension, more emotional-tension. The people who come to your side to save you.

In this past year, we all celebrated our 40th birthday. And we all chose to celebrate together in Kentucky to do the Bourbon Trail. It was our weekend with our bests and our siblings. Some of us have spouses...and how did we end up with the best spouses ever? That's damn luck. Some of us are still searching. Either way, we were together. And nothing matters more than that.

This resonates with me as I watch this movie. I'm watching the core group grapple with their life-long love and those they have fallen in love with since grapple with loving this crazy group. I watch them all deal with the loss of one of their own; a loss they only have one day dealing with and a loss my loves have been dealing with for 18 years. I can't sit here and not wonder about John. Would he have loved our adventure in Kentucky for our 40th? How would his presence have changed everything? Honestly, this is a factor I'd give anything to know how it'd turn ous to t. John and I could laugh and dance our way through the kitchen to see it all through.

There is a line here that says, "A long time ago you knew me for a short time." Here's what I want folks to know: I am here. Thank you for being here. If you are reading this, you probably don't share blood, but you share life. And I love you. I'm kinda speechless.

"Some people ease the pain of separation by denigrating the relationship."

So, as I watch this crazy movie, my Big Truth is to wonder a few things. And these few things are:

• In this movie, there is a spouse who leaves because he can't take the group. To be honest, I can't imagine any of the spouses in my circle to leave early. They are either the "not come" or "in it to win it" type. So wonder, am I right? Do I know the spouses well enough to know who will hang and who will let the group hang as is? Please know, this isn't a judgment: I LOVE the spouses who I am guessing will hang. And I LOVE the spouses who let the group be. As an outsider, I prefer everyone together, but I assume there are reasons for avoiding us as a group. I might be one of them.
• This group manages the messy well. Do we? I think we do. I actually don't think we're messy. I think we are a perfect fit, like a puzzle: squiggly pieces that fall into place just as they should.
• Where is our future? These are my people. At the end of each day, I don't have a lot of people who love me unconditionally. And the people I do love unconditionally, love others unconditionally before me. It's a weird spot to be in. So, I am looking at these people after 30 years of friendship. Where are we in ten years? 20 years? Will I still have a place? I hope so. I know they give a lot to my life. I just wonder what I give.

I suppose the Big Truth as I type tonight is that I am watching a movie that used to me just a fun form of media to me. As I watch it tonight, I can't help but think of my bests. And I can't believe I have the bests I always wanted. I just wish I had more to add to the group.

So my Bit Truth is, while I feel "less-than" tonight, I feel "more-than" because I know amazing people love me. So I am going to watch the second half of this movie and wonder how that translates to my life (don't worry loves; I'm not looking for a direct translation). But I do hope our chapter ends in a similar group bonding that allows us all around one table yearning to be closer to each of us. That's what group love is. And I love you all. More than you can ever know. When Sara says, "He should be here," I can't agree more. Daily, I want to call John; I want to hear my buddy tell me how I'm crazy and how I'm on point. He was always my compass.

Also, in the move, when he says, "How much sex, fun, friendship can one man take?" Take all those words as you will, but my friends can't get enough of any. I am so proud to be a part of my tribe, and I hope they are proud to be related to me.

So, my Big Truth is, watch The Big Chill, but know that my Big Truth is that best friends are here for each other always; despite desired outcome.

That's my big truth. And I am damn lucky to have it.

Big, Loud and Complex

Many of you know that my aunt, Carolina, passed away two months ago. Today would have been her 61st birthday. In honor of her memory, here is the eulogy I gave at her funeral. Loving and missing you every day, Tot! xoxo

On the plane on the way here, I was reading a book and the author wrote, “We know we must decide whether to stay small, quiet and uncomplicated, or allow ourselves to grow as big, loud and complex as we were made to be.” That sentence really struck me and seemed so fitting since I was flying here to mourn the loss and celebrate the life of my godmother, a woman who definitely was made to be all of those things.

Carolina, or Tot as we all called her, started living big, loud and complex from an early age. I used to love sitting at the house in Tulip Hill listening to the stories about her childhood and teenage years. Tot and my mom would laugh and laugh reliving memories of her antics, and Abiba would just smile and silently shake her head. Tot was a free spirit and she was full of life – big, loud and complex life. Maybe it was because she was the baby of the family, but everyone embraced her for it.

And how could you not? This big, loud and complex life is what drew people to her. It was definitely part of her charm. Once, when she was visiting us in Jersey, I cried and cried when it was time for her to leave. I didn’t want her to go. So before she left, we did a photo shoot of the two of us making funny faces, but most of the pictures ended up just being me hugging her. I just did not want to let her go. Even at such a young age, I knew that life was just more fun when she was around – big, loud and complex fun.

And as I got older, that didn’t change. When I was a senior in high school, my friends and I chose to spend spring break on Covington Road. While our peers were off laying on a beach somewhere, we chose to spend our days exploring DC and our nights hanging out with my aunt. She fed us flank steak and let us drink Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. She turned on the hot tub and told us stories that made us laugh until we cried. She let us thumb through her CD and record collections, and cranked up the volume so we could sing along. Anyone who knew my aunt knew how important music was to her. In fact, the other day, my cousins, brother and I found a file folder in her office marked “Personal Papers.” Inside were hundreds of printouts of song lyrics from Usher to Seal to Ludacris. We laughed and cried picturing her sitting and reading these lyrics to herself until she knew the verses by heart. The soundtrack to her big, loud and complex life.

But I couldn’t stand up here today and honor the memory of my aunt without talking about laughter. Above all else, my aunt loved to laugh. She was wickedly funny and playfully mischievous. Truly a prankster at heart. So many of you have referenced her beautiful smile. But what I love most about that smile is that it was usually the beginning to her great laugh. It was a big, loud and complex laugh. What I wouldn’t do to hear that laugh right now.

I was her cheeselet. I was her goddaughter. And being loved by her was one of my life’s biggest blessings. I have no doubt that my aunt is at peace now. I imagine that she and my mom haven’t left each others’ sides, just like old times. And while that image brings some comfort to my grieving heart, it doesn’t change how much she will be missed by all of us. So, in honor of my aunt, I want to ask that each of us remind ourselves every day that we were each made to be big, loud and complex in this life. Today, in honor of Tot, I hope we all laugh bigger, crank the music louder and embrace life with all of its complexities. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Great One

My paternal grandmother passed away last week. When I was in the third grade, I won a county-wide essay contest for an essay I wrote about why she was my hero. This is the eulogy I wrote for her funeral.

About ten years ago, I called my grandmother and asked her what she was doing. She told me that she had just come back from the funeral home because she was planning her funeral. When I responded in shock, she said, “Don’t worry…You’re invited!” I’m really glad to see all of you received an invitation as well.

You see, that’s how my grandmother was. She had a quick wit and a great sense of humor. Most of my memories of her involve lots of laughter and joking, and from the stories I’ve heard all of you share over the past few days, I think yours do too.

But having a great sense of humor only made me think of all the other ways she was great. My grandmother was part of the Greatest Generation, the generation whose lives were shaped by growing up when our country was engaged in World War II. She and my grandfather only went on a couple of dates before grandpa left for the war. But for over two years, he wrote her constantly, professing his love and stating his dreams for their future. She told me about these letters many times over the years, but it wasn’t until I was able to see them…read them…that I truly understood how much of who she was came back to this time.

The Greatest Generation is known for a couple of things. They are known for their perseverance and courage. My grandfather wrote her every few days. I remember telling her once how romantic I thought it was that grandpa wrote so much, and in her usual joking manner, she told me she thought he was crazy. They barely knew each other, after all. But the more we talked about it, the more I realized that this was part of her perseverance and courage. She told me many times what a scary time it was because you never knew who was coming home and who wasn’t. I think this fear, this need to be courageous, is part of what made her into the strong, independent woman she was. She knew that no matter who came home from the war, she had to survive. She had to live. She had to thrive. And live and thrive she did.

It’s no secret that I idolized my grandmother. When I was a kid and she would visit us in New Jersey, she would always stay in my room. I would lay in bed at night as she would tell me about all of her travels and adventures. She would tell me about the trips she and my grandfather made, from their cross-country road trip during their honeymoon to their visits to the “old country.” She never missed a chance to remind me how important it was to set foot on Italian soil. And she would laugh as she recalled her adventures with her sister-in-law, seeing the green rolling hills of Ireland to running from a bear in Alaska. I would lay there and listen to these stories, and that’s when I knew that one day I would have to see these same sites with my own eyes…to bring to life the stories being told by my idol…to have the courage to take risks like she did…to be great, like she was.

But her love of travel wasn’t the only example of her courage and sense of spirit. It was also in her day-to-day life. When video games became popular, she was the first one I knew to master the art of Dr. Mario. I remember my friends being in awe that my grandmother was willing to hang out and challenge us to a game. And for her 70^th birthday, she wanted to go ice skating. And while I distinctly remember the rest of us clumsily making our way around the rink trying to stay upright on our skates, she was beaming while doing figure eights around us. Or what about all of the years we spent at the Dude Ranch? I was fairly young at the time and had had a bad experience on a horse, but as I watched her climb into the saddle, I knew that I needed to have the same courage as her. I think being a part of the Greatest Generation instilled in her the belief to never take life for granted…to live each second…to find the great in each moment.

Members of the Greatest Generation are also known for their loyalty and faithful commitments. And to know my grandmother was to know that she was fiercely loyal. Have you ever watched a Yankees game with her? When I was working at UMass Amherst, she was visiting me during a Yankees/Red Sox game. I had to pull her off of my balcony because she was yelling at the students around my apartment who were chanting for Boston. I had to laugh as she told me that it was her responsibility to educate them on who was the superior baseball team. She was a great woman; clearly she needed to cheer for a great team.

And aside from the Yankees, there was nothing to which she was more faithful than her family. Yes, she was a member of the Greatest Generation, but I think this is where she had her greatest impact. This was her greatest adventure. Because when I think about my grandmother, aside from all the laughter and all of the fun, I think of family.

She was a daughter. She was a sister. She was an aunt. That is the family from which she came. But I am most in awe of the family that she created. As I said, my grandmother was funny, independent, courageous, full of life. Well, so are we. She loved each of us with all of her heart and thanks to that love, we are who we are today. I see it in her three children. They each have a piece of her humor, her perseverance, her loyalty. I see it in the love they have for her, holding her hand until her last breath. But I also see it in how each of them has created their own families – my brother and my cousins. One of our favorite arguments to have is who is grandma’s favorite. We each have a story of the time she assured us that it was us. She found it so funny to watch us bicker about it, but I think it’s a testament to how much we all love her and how much love she instilled in each of us. Because I think the truth is that we were each her favorite and for very different reasons. She may have been part of the Greatest Generation, but in her eyes, we were all great. And while my cousins and I know that nothing could brighten her day as quickly as when her two grandsons walked in the door, I know that nothing made her happier than the fact that her granddaughters are all strong, independent, funny women, just like her. And even more fitting that her family now consists of three great granddaughters. How great is that?

Perseverance. Courage. Loyalty. These might be traits of the Greatest Generation, but they are at the core of who my grandmother was. That, of course, and her sense of humor. The last day that I spent with her, she asked me why I was in town. I told her I was going to run a half marathon. She said to me, “A half marathon? Are you too lazy to run the whole thing?” I could only laugh and shake my head.

Today, we say goodbye to a woman who made each of us a little better; who made each of us laugh a little louder; who made each of us live a little fuller. She truly was the great one, and she will be greatly missed.

Still Too Soon

Three years ago, I sat in front of the computer staring at the clock thinking, "How did one year go by already? It's just too soon." Each year since, I've tried to make new meaning of this day, but each time, all I could think was, "It's still too soon." And here I am again, in front a different computer staring at a similar clock without a new message. It's still too damn soon.

I just reread that post from three years ago and all of those words still hold true. Not a day goes by that my mom isn't on my mind. My first instinct is always to share news with her, and I still reach for the phone to call her. And while missing her and coping with the pain of her absence has become my new normal, there is nothing normal about how soon she was taken from us. And four years later, it still feels too soon.

In the three years since I last found the energy to sit down and reflect on this day, too many times I have gotten word that someone I know was living the same hell of losing a parent too soon. Too many times I've had to pick up the phone to help someone I care about navigate this new normal; the same way the handful of people in my life have done the similar for me. And it's amazing what a knowing text or hug or post can mean during the times when their absence hits you the hardest. Because even though it's been four years, it's still too soon.

On her birthday this year, my brother brought me to a place of simultaneous hysterical crying and laughter in a way that only he can. As we were talking, he was reflecting on a pretty big life moment from that day, and he said, "I just keep thinking about how pumped mom would be. You know she'd have her tool box packed and ready to go." And the visual of our always-eager-to-help mom and her ability to handle any task, holding her tool box (yes, she did have her own tool box) with a big smile on her face made me crumble. Between the tears and the laughter, I was stuck somewhere between feeling so amused and so heartbroken. It's still too soon.

So have I learned anything in these four years? Well, I still hold true to the heart my words from her eulogy to look for her in the little moments of life. I see her in new friends who have entered our lives who I know she would love with her whole heart. How is it possible that these folks haven't met her? Don't know that smile or her laugh? I also see her in each of us. As we continue to grow and take on new adventures, I feel her presence guiding us. And I see her in the difficult moments too. Mostly, during those moments, I assume she's shaking her head and laughing, saying, "I told you so." And I still tear up at the beautiful parts of nature that were her favorites - the crashing ocean waves during a hurricane, a spider I can't bring myself to kill or a wonderfully, gnarly tree. Her and her damn trees. It's still too soon.

Four years ago after she took her last breath, I stood on the front porch hugging my niece staring at the night sky. We both cried knowing that we had lost her too soon. Tonight, I'm 3000 miles away from my niece, but as she and I were talking, I felt mom's presence again. It's because of her we love so unconditionally. It's because of her that we feel so deeply. And it's because of her that we see the beauty in each day even though it's still too soon.

Oh, and it might also be because of her that we each have our own tool box.

A Lasting Impact: The Book Edition

For whatever reason, I have recently been thinking of different pieces of creativity - books, music, art, television, movies - that have touched my life in some way or another.  As I was thinking of these various items and making lists in my head, it occurred to me that I should sit down and write about them.  I'm always thinking of great things to reflect on and write about, but somehow I never make the time to do it.  And just like that, in the middle of this thought, I received a tag on the Book of Face from a dear friend.  She tagged me to come up with the top 10 books that have stayed with me in some way.  These books don't have to be great pieces of literature, but do need to have some sort of lasting effect on my life.  I laughed as I read this post because there are times when I have to wonder if the universe is speaking directly to me.  Is it possible that this was just the nudge I needed to sit down and get writing again?  So, today, I post my top ten books that have had a lasting impact on my life.  Thank you, Jen, for getting the ball rolling.

The Babysitter's Club series - As silly as this may seem, when I read my first Babysitter's Club book as a child, it opened my eyes to the wonderful world of series.  Each time I ended a book, I couldn't wait to pick up the next one.  I couldn't wait to find out how these characters were progressing through life, and what joys and difficulties they would experience next.  When there wasn't a new Babysitter's Club to read, I would seek out other series just to follow the character development and get sucked in to another fictional world.

James and the Giant Peach - I can't remember a lot of the details about this story, but why it stays with me is because this was one of my mom's favorite books, and she would read it to me at night before bed.  We'd curl up on the couch, and she would take a chapter at a time.  The copy we had was an old one, one from her youth, and I loved the smell of the aging pages and the excitement on mom's face that she was getting to share one of her favorite stories with me.

Tuesdays with Morrie - As a child, I read a lot.  We were a reading family.  It was a very common scene for dad to come home from work with mom, me and Philip curled up in our own corners of the house reading.  But when I got to college, the amount I read slowed down due to trying to juggle the college workload that came with my classes.  But when Tuesdays with Morrie came out, somehow it ended up in my hands, and I started to read it.  I remember vividly laying in bed late into the, my roommate asleep in the bed next to me, while I curled up under the bed lamp devouring the chapters. I was taken in by the life lessons, as well as the pain the main character felt when Morrie passed away.  I remember finishing the book sometime in the wee hours of the morning and laying in my bed crying.  I wanted all books to be that good, that meaningful.

Summer Sisters - Summer Sisters was Judy Blume's first stab at a novel for adults, and it is one that I have read multiple times.  This genre of book is a theme for me in my reading choices: two young girls - one beautiful and confident, one quiet and introspective - who are the best of friends until life takes it tolls and eventually they have a falling out.  This is usually because of the actions of the beautiful friend, while the ordinary one is left having been taken advantage of and forgotten.  All of this changes in adulthood when the two women are back in each other's lives and sorting through the growing pains that come with facing your childhood demons.  In all of the books that I've read that fall under this theme, I am always drawn in by this ordinary character, typically the protagonist.  I relate to her, both in who she was as a child and who she has become as an adult.  I think I read this story over and over again looking for layers of reflection in my own world.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - I was late to the Harry Potter craze.  In true Briana fashion, I was stubborn and didn't have an interest in reading this series over which the world was going crazy.  After all, it was a kid's book, right?  It was the summer I graduated from college when the hype was hitting it's peak, and book four was about to be released.  My aunt gave me a copy of book one as part of my college graduation gift.  Her reasoning: it was a great book that she had read with my cousin and the main character is going away to school, and I was about to go away to graduate school.  I remember putting the book on a pile of things and thinking I'd never touch it again.  That summer, my whole world was turned upside down when one of my best friends was killed by a drunk drive just days before I was supposed to leave for Ohio.  When I got to the Buckeye state, I didn't know a soul, and I was alone in an apartment with nothing but my overwhelmingly sad thoughts and feelings of loneliness.  I wasn't sleeping much, and on my second night there, I looked around the apartment for anything that would take my mind off of things.  And there it was: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.  I grabbed the paperback copy, opened to the first page and by morning, I had finished it.  I spend the next day searching book stores in Columbus for the next book.  I bought book two and ordered books three and four from Amazon.  But without the ability to sleep, I finished the second book that next night and had to go for another search for book three.  I figured I could always return the copy from Amazon once it arrived.  I love the Harry Potter books now, but at the time, The Sorcerer's Stone may have saved me from losing my mind.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blooded Prince - As I mentioned, I love a good series, so while I'm talking about Harry Potter, I should mention my love for The Half-Blooded Prince.  I think this books stands out to me because it is part of the hero's journey when we've gone through the dark, angst stages (in Harry's case, The Order of the Phoenix) and get to have some light-hearted fun before things get difficult again.  (All heroes have their angst and anger phrase.  Remember Luke Skywalkers'?)  I found this book a fun read in the series before gearing up for what was sure to be a challenging end.

Trumpet - I believe in love, and I don't believe that life is as black-and-white as some think it is.  Trumpet is an incredible story of a man whose father passes away, and upon his death, he finds out that his father was born a biological woman.  This story is told in part as memories from his mother about the love story with her husband and in part from the son's point of view.  The range of emotions that the main character goes through as he learns about his father's past and his mother's love is a beautiful tale of what truly matters in life: unconditional love.

The Time Traveller's Wife - My heart melted the first time I read this book.  I was sailing on Semester at Sea, and it was one of the only things that made me want to stay in my cabin rather than enjoy ship life.  I loved every word, even the ones that broke my heart.  The idea that these two characters were drawn together and would find each other through time spoke to every inch of the romantic within me.  Like most of the other books on this list, I've read it multiple times.

Tattoos on the Heart - This book is a collection of memories and life lessons by Fr. Greg Boyle, a Jesuit who has created the country's most effective gang rehabilitation program.  The messages about love, forgiveness, dignity and compassion are the type that make your mind take a step back and think about life from a bigger picture.

No Plot, No Problem - This book is a how-to on writing a novel written by the guy who started NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).  While I have still never sat down and made myself participate, this book still sits on my shelf and I think about it often.  It truly helps you consider all of the ways you can just sit down and start writing.  He helps you come to grips with the fact that your first novel is likely to be a bunch of crap, but that doesn't mean you should do it.

These are the first ten books that came to mind when I sat down to think about the pages that have impacted my life.  I'm sure at some point I will sit up and think about another book that should have been on the list, but for now, this is what I have.  Books and reading have played such an integral part of my life.  They have been my escape, my sanctuary, my fairy tales and my dreams.  And I'm always looking for the next great read.

With My Own Two Feet: The Finish Line

One year.  365 days.  15 races.  148.1 miles.

This is, by no means, a record of any sort.  For many runners, this is a modest number.  But of the many things I've learned over my year of running, it is not a competition.  Running is between you, your body and the pavement.  Winning is not about beating someone else; it's about finishing.  And I finished.  With my head held high, I ran across that last finish line knowing that I had won because I accomplished what I set out to do.

There were obstacles along the way.  Hobbling through foot and hip pains.  Leaving fun nights early to make it to the start line in time.  Realizing I'm not going to make a PR.  All of these things presented themselves along the way as moments to test me and to test if I was really learning anything from this challenge.  I'm happy to report that each time, I proved to myself that I was, in fact, growing.  I was stronger than the negative thoughts in my head.  I was prouder than the inner voice that was eager to beat myself up for not training better or moving faster.  I was more confident than the old worries that lingered when I realized my friends would be waiting at the finish line for a long time due to my modest pace.  The old Briana may have succumbed to any of these.  She may have given up along the way, justifying why it was okay to skip one month or stop the challenge all together.  But for all the ways I am the same person I've always been, I am also a better version of that person.

I have aged into a person more comfortable in my own skin and more comfortable with my imperfections.  I have even come to embrace most of these quirks and flaws because they are me.  They are the potholes along the course of my life, things you learn to jump over or sidestep in order to make it to the finish line, but without them, the race wouldn't be as much fun.  It'd be like running on a treadmill in an empty room.  You're more than physically capable of getting those miles in, but who wants to run like that?  I don't.  I want to feel the wind on my face.  I want to watch as I run by the scenery, taking in the sounds and the smells.  I want to keep one eye on the ground so I know when to hop, skip or jump over the pebbles and potholes.  I want to smile at the other runners as they pass by and offer encouragement to those who need a boost.  I want to see new places and experience old places from a different perspective.  I want to cross each finish line knowing that isn't the end of the journey.  I want to wear sparkly skirts and customized shirts to show the world that I am capable of finding the humor in all things.  I want to improve my pace, but always be proud of my time knowing that it was the best I could give on that day.  And I want to do all of these things with my own two feet.

So, who's up for a run?

With My Own Two Feet: December

DECEMBER
Divas Half Marathon (Ontario, CA) - 13.1 miles

Back in April, when we were at the Expo for the Rock 'n' Roll San Francisco race, one of the vendors was promoting the Divas Half Marathon series.  His selling points: you get a tiara, a pink feather boa and your medal is given to you by a shirtless male model dressed as a fireman!  Well, who am I to turn down a good time?!  And this sounded like it could be the perfect last race for my year of running.

It was a cold weekend for Southern California.  The morning of the race was only supposed to be about 35 degrees.  But as we huddled up at the start line, I had a warm feeling inside.  I couldn't believe this race was my last in my year-long challenge.  And I was doing it with two of my favorite supporters, AJ and Anthony.  My first of the year was with them, the dreaded New Year's Race when I had so much pain in my foot and hip.  And here we were full circle.  It was right around mile two that the tears started.  I was so overwhelmed with emotions.  Sadness.  Pride.  Happiness.  Love.  Awe.  All of it hit me at once, and I let the tears roll down my face, feeling them mix with the sweat and the wind.  It all felt worth it.  I had earned every feeling.  And when I turned the last corner and was greeted by those giving out accessories, I donned my tiara and boa with pride as I crossed that finish line.  All of the volunteers congratulated me as I passed by, but they couldn't imagine what an accomplishment this truly was.

With My Own Two Feet: October, November

OCTOBER
Rock 'n' Roll Los Angeles (Los Angeles, CA) - 13.1 miles

The LA Rock 'n' Roll will always hold a special place in my heart since it was my first half marathon.  One year earlier, I was nervous and still a bit unsure if I was really going to be able to complete such a feat.  But I was also very excited to have such a large group of friends running with me.  There were eleven of us dressed as superheroes and geared up for this Halloween-themed run.

One year later, as I prepped for this same run, I couldn't help but think of how different it felt this time around.  Instead of being nervous about completing my first half, I was in shock that this would be my sixth in one year.  And instead of being surrounded by a team of eleven superheroes, it was just me and Anthony.  He was the Woody to my Buzz Light Year.  One year earlier, I truly needed an army to feel like I could get myself to the finish line.  And now, here I was.  No entourage waiting for me at the end.  It was just me motivating myself.  My confidence was coming from within.  And while I still love the energy when there is a big group in it together, there's something to be said about knowing that sometimes you are enough.

NOVEMBER
LMU Think Pink (Los Angeles, CA) - 3.1 miles
Rock 'n' Roll Las Vegas (Las Vegas, NV) - 13.1 miles

I can't lie and tell you that I am drawn to breast cancer awareness events.  Truth is, I hate them.  Maybe I still have some unresolved anger that I haven't worked out yet, but partially I think it has to do with something my mom said to me the day she told me she had cancer.  We both cried.  A lot.  Me more than her.  She had had time to get used to the idea and was also trying to be strong for us, as always.  And she said, "This disease will not define me.  My life is bigger than cancer."  This has always stood out to me because I think it says something about who my mom is and how she chose to live her life.  She didn't want to be thought of as synonymous with cancer.  This was just one part of who she was.  Which is part of the reason why I shy away from breast cancer events.  I don't want my mom or our family to be poster children for breast cancer.  She was more than that.  Even still, I do feel drawn to certain events and know that increasing awareness could save others from going through the hell that we've been through...that we are currently still in.  So, for my mom and for my job, a place I believe in and support, I suited up for the annual Think Pink run.  And I ran.  I ran for my mom.

The Vegas Strip.  Gambling, drinking, sleep deprivation, debauchery, running.  Wait...running?  Somehow of all of the things that come to mind when you think of the Vegas Strip, running isn't typically one of them, but that's the beauty of being a runner.  It takes you to new places and to places you've seen a million times, but gives you an opportunity to see them in a new way.  So when I learned of the Rock 'n' Roll Vegas, I was intrigued by the opportunity to run down the strip at night.

We lined up at the far end of the strip, just past the Luxor, at 4:30 pm, being serenaded by The All-American Rejects.  And as the sun dipped behind the mountains and was replaced with the superficial glow of casinos, stores and billboards, we took off with our first turn around the historic 'Welcome to Las Vegas' sign.  From there, it was a straight run up the strip until we turned to make our way down Fremont Street and back toward the finish line in front of Caesar's.  Lights.  On lookers.  Every step was peppered with something flashy to keep my attention.  And, with the exception of water stations, I ran almost the entire race.  It was the least amount of walking I'd ever done in a half.  Lucky 7, indeed.